


Uncalled For

by orphan_account



Category: Durarara!!, shizaya - Fandom
Genre: Fluffy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad, Slow Burn, Violence, but also very serious, eehh idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you really don't know you're worst enemy at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to fic#2 by your favorite trash writer!  
> Anyhow I don't really know what to say so here's your trash for this week.

 

One

 

          A steady beat. The ugly thrum. A hushed murmur. That sharp shout. Children's laughter. The chirp of an unseen bird. The rain blurring street lights and pattering off forgotten umbrellas. An annoying, off-key voice splitting through it all.

         “Hi, Shizu-chan!” The noise reverberated throughout the wet cityscape, vibrating in Shizuo’s skull painfully. Annoying. Shizuo turned around slowly, biting down on his now soaked cigarette. The flimsy paper snapped in half, soon crushed underfoot as he murmured something about telling Izaya to stay out of his city. His hand grasped the closest object, this time being a nearby caution sign, and ripped it out of the concrete below their feet. It groaned when it was pulled from its roots, but for Shizuo it had no resistance.

         “Now Shizu-chan, that was a little uncalled for,” Izaya sighed and shifted from foot to foot. His knife had already slipped into a carefully curved hand, ready for action at moments notice. Shizuo let out an inhuman growl as he hurled the sign at the flea. It missed its target by an inch, whizzing past Izaya’s ear with wind that slapped his cheek. The smile that broke his face in two was wolfish. Anyone walking down the street at the time could tell it wasn’t genuine but Shizuo was too busy getting another weapon to notice. Children screamed, no birds screeched, the beat was thrown off of the sleepy Ikebukuro. The rain continued to pour down as Shizuo swung again at the raven in front of him. Izaya easily dodged and turned, black shoes slapping the wet concrete harshly as he ran from the beast behind him. His side ached from an encounter with a few yakuza earlier that day, but he pressed on despite the constant pain. Startled shouts and horrified screams grated against Shizuo’s ears as he ripped his weapons out of the wet slabs of concrete; but he pushed on, intent on the creature running from him. This was their game, a hopeless cat and mouse through a menacing city teeming with gangs and people. Neither party quite liked the chase, but they repeated the game. Day after day they ran, one escaping while the other chased. Day after day they played, never ending up with a victor. Shizuo had never caught the raven, and the raven had never truly lost Shizuo more than reached Ikebukuro’s city limits. Some days the raven would run slower and Shizuo wouldn’t even notice. Sometimes Shizuo would give up earlier and Izaya would keep running for miles. Everyday they would repeat the pattern. Despite the taxing way it controlled their lives, they both found themselves in the same situation every day. Today was no different, and the raven flew off to his apartment in Shinjuku; leaving a very confused and frustrated beast in it’s wake.

 

             It was cold now, Izaya noted. The rain had soaked through his coat without him even realizing it. Grumpy, he peeled it off and hung it on its respectful hook near his apartment door.

             “I’m home!” He called out, receiving a bored and cold ‘welcome home’ in return. The woman who served as his secretary didn’t like him much, but the money kept her coming back every day. Izaya wasn’t sure why she had started working for him in the first place. He had torn down her business and ruined her life mostly, sure, but that didn’t mean she had to come work for him. A small smile danced across Izaya’s lips at the thought. Humans sure were funny with the way their minds worked. He slipped his sodden shoes off, stretching his back and earning several pops from his spine. Namie took this moment to walk past, giving him a disapproving look as he stretched.

          “I finished my work for tonight. You still have some left, I hope you didn’t want me to do yours as well,” Namie monotoned. Izaya nodded and waved her away, relaxing slightly when she closed the door behind her. His dark shirt and jeans clung to his body in a way that made him feel slightly gross and he opted for a shower before getting back to work. Making his way to his shower, he stripped himself of his remaining clothing. When he closed the bathroom door behind him he made a point to look at himself in the mirror. A large purple bruise had clawed its way across his pale torso painfully. Luckily it rested on his left side, and didn’t split open the rather large scar on his right. Izaya thought back to when he had gotten the bruise, another pleased smile crossing his features. It had been a normal deal, just some small time hoods that wanted some info. When Izaya got there it seemed they didn’t want to pay for his information, however, and fully planned on beating it out of him. They hadn’t managed any serious blows, but one of the kids had a large pipe and had slammed it into Izaya’s side fairly hard. Izaya laughed when he thought of how the breath had actually been knocked out of him for a moment before he got control of the situation. Humans were so silly! So interesting! Izaya couldn’t fathom what the thought process of the kid was when he saw that he had landed a blow on _the_ Izaya Orihara!With this thought in his mind, he stepped into the shower and began his long night.

 

        Shizuo grumbled as he entered his apartment. It was small and messy, with several holes in the wall from where he had taken out pent up anger. The walls were painted a soft yellow, but it was slightly stained and obviously old. Shizuo slipped off his shoes and stepped up into his living room. His apartment was empty as always. No one had been waiting to greet him when he got home since high school. The beast made his way tiredly towards his couch and flopped down on it. The worn couch groaned under his weight and Shizuo had to stop himself from telling it to shut the hell up. Flopping his hand blindly around on the ground he located the remote, flipping on the t.v.

        He wasn’t really paying attention. It was something stupid about the weather, then a heartwarming story about a dog. Images flashed on the screen but were blind to Shizuo’s eyes. The mans mind was caught up in all the things the flea could be planning. It had been a while since any gangs had gone after Shizuo. Normally when that happened it was because the flea was planning something huge. He hadn’t acted any different during their chase today. Shizuo groaned, shifting on the couch. He hated it when he couldn’t read the damn flea. Izaya was like a complicated, heavy book that had all the super hard and old kanji. The point was that Shizuo couldn’t read those books very well and he sure as hell couldn’t read Izaya. A part of him wanted to rip that book open, tear apart its insides and see what made it tick. Another part of him wanted to throw it in a river and run far, far away from it. Neither emotion was very good, and thinking about it just made Shizuo frustrated. He turned his attention back to the screen as more pictures of some store owner passed by. He sighed, reaching for the remote again. Shizuo intended to turn the t.v. back off when a new headline caught his attention. The image displayed now was of a police line, what was beyond it was hard to make out but it appeared to be a heavy white sheet covering a grim, gory scene judging by the blood smeared across the pavement. It was the headline that really got his attention though. Staring back at him in large, white, blocky letters that seemed like they came from three months ago read:

 

**_“The slasher is back: Three high school students killed in violent stabbing.”_ **


	2. 2

Sunlight filtered through glass windows, highlighting the dust that floated lazily through the air. It cast warmth over Izaya's closed eyelids, a pleasant burning sensation that gently roused him from his sleep. His sheets were tangled at the foot of his bed, clinging to his feet when he shifted. Forcing himself into a sitting position, Izaya rubbed his eyes, blinking the sleep out of them. He tugged his feet out of his sheets and stood up, cringing at the pain in his side. Making his way downstairs to his kitchen he checked his phone and frowned at all the unread messages. 

After making a quick breakfast and eating quickly he replied to his most pressing emails, most of them about money or jobs he had completed. With a sigh he pushed back and headed back upstairs to change, opting for his usual black v-neck and jeans. Summer was slowly dying, and the temperature was dropping considerably, so after a moments hesitation he added a sweatshirt to his ensemble. He didn't use sweatshirts often, this one even less. It was simple enough, thick cream fabric with blue flowers printed in various places. 

Izaya jumped when he heard the door slam from below, reaching to snatch his switchblade from where it rested under his pillow. 

"I'm home,*" Namie's voice filtered up to him, allowing him to relax. He slipped his switchblade into a pocket and bounced over to the top of the stairwell.

"Welcome home!*" Izaya called to her, face melting into a gleeful smile as he made his way down the stairs. Namie's cold eyes glanced over to him momentarily before she sat down at her desk in the corner of the room. Izaya had ordered it after she had complained one to many times about working on the couch. It wasn't long until he too settled down at his desk, booting up his computer and getting to work. They fell into a muted thrum of fingers typing on keys, papers flipping, pens scratching, and the occasional whir of the printer. Eventually Izaya started playing music softly on the loudspeakers, as he did occasionally. It was quiet and soft music, with a sweeping rhythm that matched their pace near perfectly.

Namie often found herself surprised by Izaya's music taste. It wasn't that she thought he would be listening to heavy metal or anything, but the peaceful tunes he seemed to enjoy almost directly contradicted both his personality and reputation. It wasn't until hours later that Izaya finally stood, breaking the blanket of calm by murmuring something about meeting a client and exiting the house loudly.

The truth was that Izaya had noticed a rather alarming news broadcast. _Slasher copycat? Or the real thing?_ The story was everywhere, three high school students were killed brutally in an attack that mirrored the slashers previous ones. Concern floated in Izaya's mind. Perhaps a new saika had been created, or maybe his control on one of the previous two had slipped. Both thoughts were terrifying.  The client he was meeting with now was connected directly with one of the victims, a mother seeking revenge and justice. Izaya smirked as he recalled the email he had received a while earlier. 

" _Orihara-san,_

_My name is Natsuko Akita, the mother of two of the girls in the recent slasher incident._

_I_ _have heard that you are the best private investigator in this city. I'm sure you have heard, but the police are keeping the details of my daughters deaths_

_to themselves, not letting even me know who killed them or why they were ripped from me._

_I only want justice for my daughters and their friend._

_Please, if you would accept this case, I will compensate you greatly._

_If you accept, please meet me at XXX café at 15:00 today, 05/09/20XX_

_Sincerely_ _,_

_Natsuko Akita._

While Izaya had to admit the timing was sudden, he was intrigued by these cases and hoped that the mother might offer insight. The fact she referred to him as a PI instead of an informant meant that she had very few insights into the underbelly of the city, and was most likely just a grief-stricken mother. The café wasn't too far from his apartment, but it did venture into Ikebukuro, which meant the chance of running into a certain beast and having his meeting ruined. Rounding the corner of a block, the informant crossed the invisible line that separated the two cities of Tokyo. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, eyes glancing around for the mop of blonde he had to avoid today. 

A few minuted later he was stepping into a small café flooded with plants. He was greeted by tall, flat-chested girl in the cafés uniform, who he quickly dismissed saying he was meeting someone here. At his words a woman in her late 40s that was sitting in the far corner turned her head to him, her eyes widening.

"Orihara-san?" The woman questioned, a small smile on her lips. When he nodded with a wide smile she gestured him over, offering the seat next to hers. She had chosen a table next to the large windows, a small table with two wire chairs on either side. Izaya found himself thinking it would be a good spot for date. 

"Nice to meet you, Akita-san," He said as he sat, a sugary-sweet smile plastered over his face. She smiled back, although smaller. It made sense considering she had just lost her daughters.

"You as well, Orihara-san. I must say you're a lot younger than I expected," She said, and if Izaya was any stupider he would've missed the blush that dusted her features. It made his skin prickle in a way that he didn't like, but he ignored it and continued the conversation.

"I hope you're not too disappointed, Akita-san," He said with a chuckle, "Anyway, you said you wanted to find the slasher, is that correct?" The woman nodded, her smile slipping. 

"I not only want justice, but I want to feel safe. I always feel like the killer will come for me next. I can't relax," She exclaimed, looking down at her lap. Izaya fought down a smirk at her paranoia. 

"Well that's why I'm here, Akita-san. I'll take your case, as it interests me greatly. Now, about the payment..." The conversation lasted about half an hour, with talk about who her daughters were, payment, information, and various topics about Izaya himself that he had to redirect onto the woman. She seemed unusually interested in the young informant, and Izaya wanted nothing to do with any sort of relationship in  _that_ way with the woman. Never-the-less, when she asked nervously at the end of their meeting for him to walk her home, just to be sure the slasher wasn't after her, Izaya accepted graciously. He didn't have anything else to do and she could serve as Shizuo repellent. 

The first two-thirds of the walk went well, but eventually the city started retracting, getting closer to the shadier side of town. Izaya felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his attention focused around them. Thugs lined the streets, and if you knew where to look you could see drug deals and other various crimes being committed in dark alleys and grimy shops. Izaya was so focused on the dangers around him, he didn't notice that they had turned into an even more deserted part of town until the woman beside him abruptly stopped, turning to face him. 

"Akita-san, do you-" He was cut off by the shine of a blade slicing the air where his neck had just been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm home - tadaima, used when entering your home in japan. I used it in this situation because I like the concept of Namie and Izaya's relationship being kinda like an old married couple that hates each other  
> Welcome home - okaeri ^^


End file.
